


hypnagogic

by ofwrittenlegacy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drunk!Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Other, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, ahahahah help, angst is not my strong suit, as you can see lol, dont touch this starker okay, peter whump, sike its sad tho, thnx, yo pardon the fact that this is awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 16:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofwrittenlegacy/pseuds/ofwrittenlegacy
Summary: A black hole. Peter was in a black hole. His life was a black hole, siphoning all light, all joy...down...deep...gone. Gone.Peter is sitting in the lab, the stench of liquor on his lips and he's spiraling, fast. Who's there to catch him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! A couple things before you read this.  
> 1\. If death is triggering to you, then you may not want this.  
> 2\. I typically don't write angst so this is BAD!!!  
> 3\. I have never had a drop of alcohol in my life so if you wonder why Peter's drunkenness is lacking, that is why.  
> Please prepare your mental journey as we see Peter spiraling, drunk and unable to hold himself together. He's in hysterics so if you can jump from thought to thought quickly with little to no transition then have fun!!

Burning clear liquid slipped down Peter’s throat, nullifying him, stealing away reality in favor of fantasy. The bottle of tequila had turned down his thoughts, filling him with memories of the good times. His metabolism burned through it within minutes, so he decided to test his resistance. Halfway through an expensive looking bottle of vodka, his surroundings had become blurry and he lilted around the lab, feeling timeless and light. He was floating. The room was brighter, warmer. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt.

Peter stumbled upon DUM-E and it occurred to him that he was in the lab. When had he gotten here? He giggled. Why was that funny?

_Heads bowed in respect._

_A swaying sea of black._

_I’m fine, thanks for coming._

_Stinging warm tears._

_Warm tears._

Why was he crying?

Peter touched his face, surprised to find a dampness lurking there. Why was he crying? Burning clear liquid assaulted his taste buds once more.

“I thought I’d find you down here.” Peter turned, gravity giving way as he tilted to the right. He caught himself on the workbench, and snickered. Gravity was such a silly thing. Gravity is a natural phenomenon. Gravity is not a force, but a consequence of the curvature of spacetime. An example of this curvature of spacetime is a black hole, from which nothing—not even light—can escape once past the black hole's event horizon. A black hole. Peter was in a black hole. He would never see the light again. His life was a black hole, siphoning all light, all joy...down...deep...gone. Gone.

He lifted the bottle to his lips.

“Hey,” Peter blinked. When had Steve gotten there? He stood in the doorway of the lab, clad in all black. He wore an expression. What was it? Peter couldn’t tell. Agony? Anguish? Apathy?

“Oh, hey, Mister Cap’n ‘Merica, sir. It’s my lovely honor ‘n pleasure to make ye’r acquaintance.” Peter bowed, some of the lukewarm liquor sloshing out of the narrow neck of the bottle and onto his hand. He quickly straightened and stuck his knuckles into his mouth to try and save the lost drop of vodka. He couldn’t waste this! It was a painkiller and he doubted he could sneak another bottle passed any authority.

“ _Peter_ ,” Steve sounded disappointed. Oh fuck, he was going to get the Sad Righteous Puppy Dog Eyes from the American himself. America was declared independent July 4th, 1776. What had he done wrong? He couldn’t remember.

_Heads bowed in respect._

_A swaying sea of black._

_I’m fine, thanks for coming._

_Stinging warm tears._

_Warm tears._

 Peter’s breath caught in his throat. Was this vodka broken? Why could he still remember the one thing he wanted to forget? It was scarred into his brain. He drove the heel of his palm into his eye and groaned. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark could make it stop.

“I’m fine. Thanks f’r coming.” It was a prerecorded message, something Peter had been trained into saying. It was funeral season. Peter was happy and whenever he made the mistake of getting content, funeral season began. Maybe if he stopped getting attached, people would stop dying. _I’m fine, I’m hanging in there, I’m fairing,_ was the proper response to the 1,394 questions he received in pity.

“Hey, I have a lot of experience with grief. If you need to talk to someone-”

“I’m fine. Thanks for coming,” Peter turned his back to Steve, taking a swig of vodka.

“Peter--”

“I’m _fine_.” Peter kept his back turned so Steve didn’t see him cry.

Steve got the hint. With a sigh, Steve turned and vacated the lab.

_Heads bowed in respect._

_A swaying sea of black._

_Stinging warm tears._

_Warm tears._

* * *

  _Peter was sitting in the front but even in his peripheral he could see everyone’s head bowed in respect. Or maybe they were too afraid to look at the front of the church and see reality awaiting them. The choir sang a hymn. Peter couldn’t remember which one, too consumed with fighting the seasickness of watching the swaying sea of black clothing. It prickled at his feverish skin. He was numb a few minutes ago and now he seemed to be able to feel and hear everything. Every turn of the hymnal, every sniffle. He could feel it all. A man, six rows back, to his right, kept checking his watch. He had work. Peter could feel it in his femur. A woman was hushing a fussy baby, in the back of the church by the door, ready to escape at the drop of a pin. Peter felt that in his tricep. Pepper was bristling with anxiety immediately on his right. He felt that in his throat, coating his esophagus like sour milk. He felt it all and he’d give anything to turn it all off. He wasn’t sure when he started crying but it seemed to bubble up out of nowhere and then fizz out just as quickly. The warm hot tears rolled down his face but he was oblivious to it all._

_The Stark’s were holding the post-reception, the cabin bustling with familiar faces amongst strangers. Folks from the hospital and family friends. The faces blurred together until everyone was a blank canvas. He wanted to be a blank canvas. He disappeared down to the lab after picking at his dinner and saying his 1,394th “I’m fine, thanks for coming.”_

* * *

Tentatively almost, Peter began to feel the emptiness in him shift. There was a hollow area in his chest, so heavy that it threatened to swallow him entirely. It began to fill with anger, spreading throughout his entire body like a match dropped into a pool of gasoline. It made his toes curl. The grief came in waves but never so potent. So visceral. He could taste it. It left a metallic flavor on his tongue, mixing with the salt from the tears. He savored it.

Cerebrovascular accident. An _accident_. Something Peter couldn’t have stopped, powers or no powers.

With all the force in his trembling hands, Peter turned and hurled the silver bottle of vodka at the glass wall.


	2. crestfallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hears the words he so badly needed to hear. He thinks he might be okay. Aside from the hangover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is from a different pov lol

Tony turned the corner and watched the west wall of his lab erupt into pieces. He sees the first crack, barely the length of a hairpin. But he's not watching the glass. He sees the kid crack before him, fragile as the fracture spreads and then he watches Peter shatter much like his demolished wall.

He stepped to the threshold of the missing wall and froze. The bitter shards glass that was once solid littered the floor, like a thousand tiny daggers, leaving the lab with a sense of cynical abandonment. Breaking glass was an anthem of his childhood. A day never went by without the sound of a beer bottle smashed into a thousand glittering fragments. It typically was followed by a fist to his jaw, but this wasn’t Howard. This was a grieving child. He stepped over all the glass.

Peter had discarded of his blazer somewhere between the funeral and now. He stood in slacks and incorrectly buttoned shirt. His tie was unraveled, hanging around his shoulders. He was shaking.

“Hey, Itsy Bitsy.”

Peter jumped, snapping out of his stupor.

“I’m _fine_.” His voice cracked.

Steve had told him the kid was bad. Drunken. His metabolism burning the liquor away fast enough for him not to worry but he wouldn’t be surprised if the kid woke up puking with a killer headache. He assumed he had gotten his hands on it while all the adults had congregated to talk about tomorrow and the day after that.  

It was simple to Tony. He’d adopt Peter. He didn’t understand why everyone was making it so difficult. It was difficult enough without May. Everyone wanted a piece in adding to that. 

“Peter?” Tony caught his gaze. Behind their desolate, barren, drunken fog, he could see anger burning. Tony knew that feeling. He was tired of the apologizing, the hugs, the flowers. He just needed to let it out.

“I love you, kid.” That seemed to catch him by surprise. He hadn’t heard that one in a while. 

Peter unraveled.

Tony sprang forward, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders as his knees buckled. They sunk to the floor together and Peter buried his face in his hands.

Peter didn't break quietly. It was like every atom of his being screamed in unison, traumatized that he would exist without May. He cried as if his brain was being shredded from the inside; as if the ferocity of it might bring her back.

* * *

 

Tony wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, Peter pressed flush against his chest, sobbing into his hands. Tony didn’t care. They could sit there for hours and he wouldn’t move. Finally, when his voice had become hoarse, and his sobs had quieted to hiccups, he directed his unfocused gaze on Tony.

“T’ny,” Peter slurred. During his hysterics, Tony had almost forgotten the kid was drunk. For a moment, he was a tad grateful. Peter was much too prideful, too determined to prove he was fine, that he was a tough big kid. If not for the liquor in his system, Tony doubted he would’ve let it out. Tony had drank to forget, to knock himself unconscious. Peter’s metabolism didn’t let that happen. He drank to feel. To feel light, ditzy, but he couldn’t forget. He’d need something much like motor oil for that to happen.

“Does it ev’r get easier?” Peter asked. Tony swallowed around the ball that had suddenly lodged in his throat. He had lost his mother all too young. Death swept in like shadow and took her before Tony even got to fully appreciate her. Vividly, Tony remembered grief suffocating him. When he got the news, he had done much like Peter. He drank until he couldn’t taste it anymore. Then he threw vases against the wall, kicking over furniture and he tore through his living room like a cyclone in despair. He drank some more, until he puked. He made sure he drank his way into a stupor so he didn’t feel bad about missing Howard’s funeral. He went to Maria’s. He went to Jarvis’s. But he didn’t dare go to Howard’s.

“Yes.” Tony laughed breathlessly. “No? I don’t know. I never handled this well. You’d expect me to be a pro at it now, right? I’ve had so much of it. But, one day you wake up and it just stops hurting. It doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t feel like it’s crushing you.” 

Peter seemed to exhale at that. “I can handle that.”

“Yeah, you can.” Tony exhaled also. The kid had lost so much, so soon. “I’m here for you, you know.” Peter was silent. “I can’t heal you but I can hold your hand every step of the way. Okay?”

Peter swallowed thickly. Tony half expected him to burst into tears. But instead, Peter threw his arms around Tony. Tony grunted as the kid cut off his air.

“I got you, Underoos.”

“I know you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always,  
> Thanks for reading! xx. 
> 
> Reach me at tumblr @ofwrittenlegacy. Comments and feedback is always appreciated.


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